


Fisk and Witches Do Not Mix

by love_in_the_stars



Category: Knight & Rogue - Hilari Bell
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:16:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_in_the_stars/pseuds/love_in_the_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael had a bad habit for attracting the worst sort of attention no matter how careful he claimed to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fisk and Witches Do Not Mix

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in this fandom. Not 1st person because I am abysmal at writing in 1st person. Might be part 1 of a series of oneshots based on prompts, might not be. Depends on how much my brain yells at me for K&R fic.
> 
> Uh, enjoy?

Michael had a bad habit for attracting the worst sort of attention no matter how careful he claimed to be. It was something Fisk had long become accustomed to but would never stop trying to train out of him. Unfortunately his efforts have yet to take hold and right now Fisk had a slightly bigger problem to solve. Mainly getting Michael off that stake and out of this creepy and paranoid village.

Fisk peered around various villagers gathered around the stake and kindling that Michael was attached to as he worked his way through the crowd, unnoticed in his dull brown cloak that every person shouting invectives at Michael were also wearing.

He could see no way to break through the crowd and get to Michael to release him without being attacked in return and he was rapidly running out of time. The roar of the crowd abruptly increased as several glowing torches from the road leading to the plaza began their slow, ominous approach.

Fisk took one last look at Michael, tied to that blasted wood pole and looking particularly wide eyed, before backing out to the edge of the crowd. Once he was certain everyone was preoccupied with the oncoming procession of both Priest and Lord, Fisk took to his heels and booked it back to the Inn.

Their packs were still in the room Fisk had paid for prior to Michael accidentally performing a bit of harmless magic in public and getting flash mobbed by these paranoid ‘witch’ hunters. Having seen the Innkeeper among the crowd awaiting the spectacle of Michael going up in flames, Fisk knew he’d be safe popping in long enough to grab their things and gather the horses. As he rushed about making sure to forget nothing he also plotted, letting his mind race ahead of him with possible ideas until finally, he hit upon the one most likely to succeed without causing both of their deaths.

Besides, after the way the Innkeeper was shouting for Michael’s black soul to burn the bastard deserved to lose a few bottles of his most expensive spirits.

Luckily, by the time Fisk made it back to the plaza the crowd had not grown too much larger. Unluckily, the torch bearers had nearly reached Michael and Fisk pulled Tipple back before they were noticed. Chant was waiting just behind them, dancing nervously in place and Fisk hoped the destrier understood what to do.

Taking a deep breath, Fisk prayed to the Gods that had long stopped listening just incase it would help, then lit his match and set it to the stuffed mouths of his liquor bottles. Please, please let these crazy people react the way he thought they would. Standing up in his saddle, Fisk threw the bottles towards the edges of the crowd, not close enough to injure but most certainly close enough to scare.

Each bottle erupted into a burst of flame once broken over the ground and the crowd screamed in terror, scattering away and breaking apart from each other in their haste to escape the flames and the thing they suspected of causing it. For Fisk had not been seen and Michael was capable of anything as far as the villagers were concerned.

His advantage would only last for a moment before the villagers regrouped and he kicked Tipple into a run, whistling for Chant to follow. The few people who remained in his way took one look at the rushing horse with her most likely demented looking rider followed by a powerful destrier and leaped out of his way. Those who didn’t, well, they may have ended up laying on the cobblestones but Fisk couldn’t really be bothered to care over much.

As soon as he was close enough, Fisk swung down from Tipple and yanked the knife from his boot to saw at Michael’s ropes. They had gagged the knight in fear of his demon words but Fisk took a moment now to yank the cloth free.

"Fisk!" Michael's voice was a touch hoarse and Fisk felt a flash of resentment towards these crazy people for treating him like this. Michael was a better man than any one person in this village, magic or not.

“Fisk!” Michael repeated and the squire gave a preoccupied grunt of acknowledgement. “This isn’t their first burning.”

Focused on the last bit of rope holding Michael in place, Fisk just nodded and glanced back toward the quickly reforming mob, not truly listening. At last the ropes fell, freeing his friend and Fisk immediately turned toward Tipple, more than ready to leave this place far behind.

But Michael had yet to move any further then catching Chant’s reins and was staring intently at Fisk. The stubborn look on his face made Fisk pause in the act of mounting.

“What?”

“I said this isn’t their first burning. I heard them talking about the other people they’ve killed claiming them to be witches.”

Considering there was no such thing as witches, Michael aside, that was an appropriately horrifying fact to know.

“All the more reason we need to get out of here!”

If anything, Michael’s face grew only more resolute and Fisk immediately knew what that meant. “We cannot allow these people to continue murdering others!”

They didn’t have time for this.

“Okay, you’re right.” Fisk said even as he finally mounted Tipple. “But we have to survive tonight in order to come back and put a stop to this. There is nothing more we can do right now.”

Fisk couldn’t be sure if it was his conditional agreement that got Michael moving or the well thrown pitchfork that impaled the ground unnervingly close to the knight’s feet but either way Michael was on Chant’s back in an instant and Fisk gladly kicked Tipple into a gallop. The crowd had tightened up again but Fisk had figured it would and was happy to encouraged Tipple to trample anyone not smart enough to get out of his way. Michael might be too noble to do such a thing but Fisk wasn’t quite that invested and thus made sure he would be in the lead to cut a path Michael could follow.

The villagers gave it their best shot, trying to pull down the horses or their riders, but Fisk and Michael were old hands at escaping mobs and in no time at all they were well away from the village borders.

Once they were far enough that Fisk deemed it safe, they slowed the horses to allow them to rest a bit.

“Well, Noble Sir, was that adventure enough for you?” Fisk asked, relieved to be well away of the crazy people even if it was only temporary given Michael’s determination to right all wrongs.

“T’was not what I’d hoped.” Was the dry response but the knight’s expression was still slightly disturbed and in truth, Fisk wasn’t feeling too great about what almost happened either.

“We’re not going back alone. If you’re set on stopping those nuts from attempting to burn any other people alive then we’re riding for the closest Lord first. They might just be willing to help us take down a whole village of crazy killers. Maybe.”

When he looked, Michael was wearing that sappy, pleased puppy expression that meant he was inwardly crowing over Fisk’s hidden heart of gold or some such thing. In truth, whenever he supported whatever crazy thing Michael was planning to do next it was rarely because of it being the ‘right thing to do’ and more because if he didn’t then the idiot was going to get himself killed. If he didn’t act the voice of reason to Michael’s heroic ideals then he’d likely be left Michael-less one day and what good was a squire without his knight?

Not that Fisk cared about this whole ‘knight errant’ thing or anything.

Fisk shot Michael a narrow eyed warning glare to get rid of that expression and heaved a great, gusting put upon sigh that caused Tipple’s ears to flick with irritation. “Alright then, let’s get going so we can get this over with and I can promptly forget all about the fact you almost got burned alive today.”

Michael’s face was mostly neutral now with just a hint of a serene smile. “No, Fisk, I think with you at my side I shall be quite safe. You do have a knack for brilliant rescues.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

The noble idiot.


End file.
